I can’t believe I’m considering this.

Hell, I more than considered it. I went through the registration process to pimp myself out to unknown men. Two retail jobs and they were still not enough to make ends meet. Desperate times.

I paused over the username and weighed using a fake name.

Anastasia? Isabella?

Despite the thrill of going by something exotic, I decided to use my first name. The world was flooded with Jessicas. I entered my height and body type. Then I realized I would need a profile picture, and it needed to be good. I grabbed a black cocktail dress from Natalie’s closet and peeked into the hallway. The bathroom door was open. I rushed inside, closed it, and looked into the foggy mirror.

I was a mess.

My blonde hair looked like a bird’s nest. I attacked it with my brush, bemoaning the split ends I found. I lined my makeup on the sink like toy soldiers. These billionaires only cared about having a hot chick dangling on their arm.

All the tangles teased out of my hair made a noticeable improvement, but it still looked dry. I squirted some of that hair moisturizer in my hands and then tousled it to make it shine. Should I straighten my hair? Nah. I didn’t want to look too polished, and yet I wanted to stand out from all the blonde Barbie dolls listed on the website. My mascara and eyeliner were next, and then I added just a touch of lip-gloss.

I looked at the frightened, beautiful girl in the mirror.

Damn it. This will never work.

Then I walked out of the bathroom and bumped into Natalie.

“There you are! I was getting worried.” She paused in the midst of talking. “Wow, are you going out on a date or something?”

She knew I didn’t date. “No, I’m not.”

“Then why are you all dolled up?”

“Because I need to take a nice picture of myself. Can you help me?”

“Sure,” she smirked. “Is this for an online dating profile?”

I faltered as she dashed into her room to get her camera and wondered why she was so excited. "Uh—sorta."

“Well, I think that’s great,” she gushed. “It’s about time you dated.”

My insides squirmed at not revealing the whole truth. I would tell her soon enough, but I didn’t think she would approve. “It needs to be flattering.”

“Well, duh.” She dragged me around the house. “Here, lean against the wall and hold one of your arms. Look down.”

“Shouldn’t I look at the camera?”

“No! Models never smile for the camera.”

I rolled my eyes. Natalie took one photography class in college, and apparently that made her an expert.

“If I don’t smile I’ll look angry.”

“Stop talking.”

I laughed and was blinded by the flash of her camera. She took dozens of random photos, some of me sitting down on the couch, standing, drinking wine, and holding books.

“What’s the point of this?” I whined as I held several volumes.

She kept shaking her head at me as she snapped pictures. Am I doing something wrong?

“You’re so pretty. I always thought you should model.”

I choked out a laugh. “Me? Model? I don’t think so. I’m too short.”

She said nothing, but her face looked wistful as she snapped more photos. “Okay, I think that’s enough.”

“Could you send them over? I’m going to take this thing off.”

I walked back to my bedroom, stripped off the dress, and pulled my jeans and t-shirt back on with a sigh of relief before returning to my unfinished profile.

How much do I want?

It was tempting to put $20,000, but that was too crazy, so I clicked on the $5,000 - $10,000 per month tab and described myself as an aspiring writer with a Bachelor’s degree in English. I drew a blank at what else to write that would make me sound appealing.

Aquarius? Adept at juggling? Can make a mean French toast from stale bread?

“I sent them!” Natalie’s voice roared through the door.

Her pounding footsteps grew louder, and I half-lifted from the chair.

She flung open the door. “So, what is this dating site?”

Double crap.

I bit my lip hard.

“What is this?” She leaned over my chair. “Oh my God, is this an escort site? Jessica!”

The way she said my name made me feel like something under her shoe. “It’s a dating website f—for rich men.”

She stared at me as if she’d never seen me before. Natalie’s thin arms crossed her chest as she glowered at me. “It says here that you want five to ten thousand dollars a month. I mean, really, Jessica. What do you think they’ll want in exchange?”

"No," I said even louder. "That's not how it works. You go on dates with them, and they pay you. It's an eye-candy thing. I'm not fucking men for money."

Her eyes shined with pity. I hated that.

“Look, I get it. You’re desperate for money.”

"I don't think you get it," I said in a quiet voice. "I have two jobs, and they're still not enough."

“Then you search for a better job!”

“What do you think I’ve been doing all this time? Eating bonbons? I’ve been applying to every posting on craigslist. The few places that bother to email me back send a letter of rejection. I’m out of options.”

Natalie's face flushed an ugly shade of purple. "You don't have to do this! I'll pay your rent; you can pay me back later."

“No. I will not keep depending on you. It’s wrong.” I turned back toward the screen.

"You do not depend on me—"

"Yes, I do Natalie. There's no need to sugarcoat how much of a leech I am."

Or how I’ve failed at everything.

“Becoming a prostitute isn’t a solution to your problem.”

My cheeks burned. “I’m not becoming anything. Would you relax? I want to try this.”

"Why couldn't you try something normal? I mean out of all the jobs out there, you chose this? This is a terrible idea, Jess."

The horrible sound of her screaming rang in my ears.

"I'm sorry, Nat," I said in a tight voice. "But I am desperate, and I need this. I don't have a family to take care of me."

“I don’t feel good about this.”

It’s not like I have a choice.

It was this, or keep begging the manager at Chili’s for the hours he couldn’t give me.

“I can take care of myself.”

“No, you can’t, Jess,” she said in a softer voice. “Especially not with your history.”

His face blazed in my mind. The anger radiating from my body turned inward. I didn’t want to hear it. She tried to reach for me, but I turned toward the screen. A final furious sob and my bedroom door slammed shut. I clenched my fist on the desk and breathed deeply, listening to the sound of my heart hammering against my chest. I couldn’t remember the last time I thought about that jackass.

Why did she have to remind me of him now?

There was work to do. I wiped my eyes and continued the profile. I chose several pictures showing me smiling and others that made me look vulnerable.

How the hell am I supposed to know what a millionaire wants?

I blew out my cheeks as I posted the profile and drummed my fingertips on the table, refreshing the web page obsessively to see if I had any responses.

I felt a swooping sensation as my email blinked.

Holy shit, that was fast.

Hello,

Just saw your profile pics, your gorgeous! I’m a wealthy married 60y/o man looking for a discrete, pretty young lady like yourself ;) Would you be willing to accept $3000/month? Check out my profile and email me back.

Sincerely,

Mr. Nice Guy

I shuddered, my skin clammy. His message had been innocuous enough, but I could detect an aura of sleaze radiating from Mr. Nice Guy. A sixty-year-old man was looking for a discrete woman less than half his age.

Gee, I wonder what he wants.

Feeling a bit sick as I deleted his email, I wondered if all the responses would be like his.

As I deleted the email, two more popped up. Wow.

Hiya!

You look like just what I’m looking for ;) Check out my profile.

-EnigmaMan248

I clicked on his profile and saw an aging, bald man with two buxom blondes in his arms, each kissing his cheeks. His “about me” line declared him as The Perpetual Partier.

More like the Perpetual D-bag.

I scrunched my face in disgust. Maybe Natalie was right about this website being a waste of my time. I clicked on the third, bracing myself.

Good Evening,

I am a businessman in my late twenties looking for someone to accompany me in my travels. While I cannot disclose exactly what I am looking for in an email, I believe that the arrangement I am seeking would be of great interest to you. I realize that my lack of information seems suspicious, but I would like to set up a meeting as soon as possible. I will give you $2000 to meet with me tomorrow night, so long as you sign a non-disclosure agreement upon arrival. Regardless of whether this arrangement pans out, you will receive the money. Please respond as soon as possible.

Sincerely,

-L

That piqued my interest. His profile displayed a man in a business suit with large sunglasses and dark, chocolate-brown hair. I couldn't discern anything from the low-quality picture; it seemed like he might be handsome. His pricing was negotiable, and his net worth was a staggering 1.6 billion.

Holy fucking shit.

My mind churned. Two thousand dollars just for showing up. I couldn't pass this up, no matter how sketchy his request sounded. The car would be paid for, and last month's rent, but it wouldn't be enough to get me back on my feet. He couldn't be a hoax; the website claimed to check each "gentleman's" bank and tax records. He was worth all that money.

My insides squirmed as I thought about it. Where would we go? Why did he want a travel companion? The questions raced around in my head ceaselessly, but I knew that I couldn’t pass up two grand.

Hi L,

Thank you for emailing me. I would be glad to meet you. Yes, I am free tomorrow. What time and where?

- Jessica

I kept the email as curt as possible. L was clearly a no-nonsense guy, and I didn’t think he would respond to a sugary message. My heart hammered as his reply came within minutes. I trembled as I clicked on the new email.

Jessica,

Please be at the A16 restaurant in San Francisco at 7 pm. The hostess will show you to my table. RSVP soon.

Thank you,

- L

I let out a strangled laugh at his email's clipped tone, and I suddenly felt a lot less worried. This wasn't the sound of a guy who wanted to get into my pants. He was something else entirely, but I wasn't sure what. Intrigued, I sent back a confirmation, and he replied lightning-fast.

See you tomorrow.

- L

The bedroom echoed with the sound of my nervous giggle. I closed my computer and climbed into bed. What is he going to be like? I tossed and turned in my bed, the promise of two thousand dollars easing my nerves. The adage burned in my mind: if it’s too good to be true, it usually is.